


This Bed is Cold

by EmotionalCoaster



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Angst, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, Sad, Sad Ending, Sad Louis, Sad Zayn, Singing, Smut, night changes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-23
Updated: 2014-11-23
Packaged: 2018-02-26 19:05:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,135
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2662964
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EmotionalCoaster/pseuds/EmotionalCoaster
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Touring is over, and Zayn is leaving.  He's going somewhere, somewhere far away.  He's going to take away with him his quiet and calm, leaving Louis in an empty house of silence and unsettlement.</p>
<p>*Trigger Warning:*<br/>• eating disorder</p>
            </blockquote>





	This Bed is Cold

Darkness had muted the sunlight that had been bathing Louis all afternoon. He pulled a blanket onto himself, covering his cold ankles.  He had always been cool to the touch, skin never warm unless it was warmed. The telly flickered quietly, but Louis was tapping away at his phone.  It had been a short, tired day, and he’d only left the recliner to grab a spot of lunch or to pee.  He sat now with an open bottle of wine and a half empty glass, head rolling back in weariness.

Tension plagued his muscles, not liking how the semester was over and he no longer had any method of releasing his energy.  He wanted to teach.  He had been so tired the past week, completely unoccupied and bored out of his mind. Tension resided in him, dread. He always tired out when that happened, just wanting to curl up and drink and sleep.  The only evidence of any exertion on his behalf was bruises on his hips and a few dark purple marks on his collarbone.

Faintly, he heard the front door open.  He dropped his phone in his lap and his eyes rose to the entrance of the living room, a habit developed long ago.  A moment later and Zayn padded in, all warmth and comfort.  He never did make a sound, moving from place to place with light feet and a bodily silence.  He sank into the sofa beside Louis and kissed Louis on his cheek, his mouth. Unlike Louis, he emanated heat and Louis immediately gravitated towards him.

“How was your day?”  Louis asked, fingers absently playing at the little prickles on Zayn’s cheek.  He had to tickle his fingers through Zayn’s hair, it was just so long now.  He felt warm, and his skin buzzed with tension.  His head leaned against the sofa and his glasses smushed a little against his nose. Zayn’s legs swung to cover Louis’.

“Alright,” Zayn mumbled, leaning into Louis’ touch.  “Just visited mum and the girls.”

“Yeah?”

“Mm.” Zayn looked at the television, distant. “Don’t like seein’ ‘em cry, Lou.”

Louis rubbed the back of his fingers on Zayn’s cheek, hiding his own dismay. “Don’t lie to me, Zayn, I know you cried like the man you are.”  His comment was only partially out of banter, but he really just wanted to see the corners of Zayn’s lips play at a smile.  “Hey,” Louis said, applying the lightest pressure to Zayn’s cheek to have him turn his head. “I know you’re leaving tomorrow, but we have tonight.”

Zayn nodded, kissing Louis once more with his chapped lips that were rough against Louis’.  Louis craved them, which made no sense to him because he had them.  Zayn’s hand drew in Louis’ waist and Louis’ hand slid into Zayn’s hair, brushing it back and loving the way it fell back and brushed him on the face.

“I’m gonna miss you,” Zayn mumbled, and Louis’ fingers turned into a fist in Zayn’s hair.   His wrist angled and Zayn’s lips were pulled from Louis’. Louis looked at Zayn, saw the way his eyes were slightly swollen and his nose and cheeks flushed, the way his chapped lips were red and raw from being chewed on.  Zayn swallowed, and Louis watched Zayn’s throat, watched how difficult it was for Zayn to do just that.

Louis kissed Zayn again.

“I’m gonna miss _you_ ,” he repeated Zayn’s words, tasting them in his mouth.  He hated those words, hated them so much.  There was so much more behind them, so much more that he’d rather not say.

Zayn stood, and his hand tugged Louis to his feet.  Louis kept the blanket around his shoulders and it trailed behind him like a cape, like a gown.  It dragged across the floor, as if to say it didn’t want to go where Louis was taking it, it wanted to stay back on the sofa where everything was good and it could be shared by both Zayn and Louis.

Louis dropped the blanket from his shoulders by the door of his bedroom. His toes picked their way across the mess of a bedroom, ankles exposed by his rolled up sweatpants and collarbones tasting the air between the shoulders of his tank.  Zayn left the light off and closed the door behind Louis to keep the heat in the room.  He knew how cold Louis got.  Louis crawled onto the bed and sat cross-legged opposite the headboard.  He saw only a shadow of Zayn, shifting as Zayn shed his clothing and changed into a ragged t-shirt over his boxers.

Louis had those movements memorized; the way Zayn’s spine curled to pick his jeans off the floor, the way his slim torso stretched when he lifted his shirt. He knew every little movement, even when he could only see a ghost of the real thing.

A lump formed in his throat.

Zayn crawled onto the bed and felt his way around, muttering a “sorry,” when his hand collided with Louis’ knee, and mirrored Louis.  Their knees were touching.  For a while, they said nothing, just touching, _breathing_ , and Louis’ eyes adjusted to the dark.

“C’mere,” Zayn said, his voice raspy with the strain to remain even. Louis shifted and sank onto Zayn’s lap, fingers clasping his neck.  His vision was lowered, eyes hooded, and he just wanted to kiss Zayn. In that moment, it all came crashing down.

“I don’t want you to go,” Louis breathed, and his voice was barely a whisper because he was suddenly crying.  He shook his head so lightly and tilted it back when Zayn held his cheek, eyes rising to the ceiling in a way that said, _this can’t be happening_.  Zayn thumbed Louis’ cheekbone, so prominent and sharp from all the days of going to bed with an empty stomach.  Zayn didn’t know about that, believed Louis when he told Zayn he was eating healthy and working out more often.  It was strange, Louis thought, that he chose to dwell on the angle of his cheekbone in this moment.  A tear glazed his cheek at the thought that Zayn was going to be leaving tomorrow, and Louis was still keeping secrets from him.

It was dark, but Zayn knew where to wipe the stray tear.  Louis remembered when he first cried in front of Zayn, how furious and embarrassed he was because _men aren’t supposed to cry_. Zayn, loving and beautiful and fierce Zayn, didn’t bother.  He held Louis and gave Louis what he never had; affection.  Love.  Not since he was a child had someone held him and treated him with the fragility of the moment, and here was this man he would have never befriended in ordinary circumstance kissing away the salt from his lashes.

What made Louis hurt even more in this moment was that Zayn never saw Louis as anything less than the strongest man Zayn had ever met, never saw Louis as anything less than brave and crying was never a weakness to him.   _“Crying isn’t stupid, you fucking twat,”_ Zayn whispered one night, laughing and forcing Louis to look into his eyes.  _“Stop worrying, yeah?  You’re not weak or whatever.  Don’t think you’ve ever been more beautiful.  Spider-Man kind of thing, mm?”_

The words came back to Louis as though they weren’t four years old, as though they had just flitted off of Zayn’s tongue.

Zayn said nothing, just took Louis’ glasses off and put them on the nightstand. Louis sank into Zayn’s shoulder and Zayn just held his lips against Louis’ mop of hair, breathing onto the older boy’s scalp.  Louis felt fingers rub against his back, knocking over the knobs of his spine one by one, up and down. He didn’t sob, didn’t scream; this was a different kind of crying.  It was silent and small and afraid, not wanting to be too loud so that maybe, just maybe, the big bad thing would go away.  He sniffled and wiped at his eyes, silent tears leaking one after the other. Yet again, he felt disgusting for being like this.

“I’m sorry,” he said on instinct, sitting back up and wiping his eyes.

“Hey,” Zayn said, taking Louis’ face into his hands.  Their foreheads knocked lightly and Zayn kissed Louis, probably tasting the moisture on his lips.  “Don’t ever be sorry about that, yeah?  I don’t care, never have, so just… kiss me.”

Louis breathed, _really breathed_ , and memorized the scent of tobacco and mint and expensive cologne, putting a stopper in it and tucking it away.  His lips found Zayn’s and his body rolled forward, back arching so his stomach was touching Zayn’s. Zayn fell back against the pillow and his fingers dug into the back of Louis’ neck.  Louis kissed Zayn’s lips, cheekbones, jawline, anywhere he could reach.  The moon broke through the clouds outside the window and a square of pale blue light washed over them, and Zayn’s attention turned to the sky.  Louis looked up at Zayn and followed his gaze, not really being able to see the sharpness of the moon in the sky but knowing it was there. Without his glasses, he really was a little hopeless, but he let Zayn be his eyes.

“You see that?”

Louis didn’t bother squinting, smiled a little.  “Not really.”  His cheek touched Zayn’s.

“Before I go to bed, I’m gonna be lookin’ up at that and y’know, maybe it’ll make it easier to sleep without you.”

Louis’ eyes were wide, turned up to the blurry ball of light that hung in the night sky. His fingers tightened on Zayn’s shirt. He couldn’t look at Zayn. “Twelve months is a long time.”

Zayn nodded, and Louis felt it against his own cheek.  “Yeah.”

Louis lifted his face and sat up a bit, head tilted and hanging off his shoulder, hair falling into his eyes.  The moonlight spilled into Zayn’s eyes, making them look like hot cups of tea and honey. “Sing to me?”

Zayn’s lashes flickered and he nodded.  He didn’t sing, kept his tea-and-honey eyes on Louis, raising his hand. It hesitated before touching Louis, almost frightened.  “It’s silly,” Zayn said absently, brushing Louis’ fringe back.  It fell back into Louis’ eyes, but Zayn repeated his action. “It’s kind of silly, but I feel like you’re going to disappear.”

Louis snorted, tracing Zayn’s ear with his ragged fingernail, broken the night before dragging across skin or sheets — Louis couldn’t remember. “ _You’re_ the one disappearing on _me_ , you arse.”

Zayn propped himself on his elbows and tilted his chin up, kissing Louis. Louis kissed him back, skin buzzing, until he couldn’t breathe and he slipped a choked whimper. Zayn’s hands slipped under Louis’ shirt and ran up his back, and Louis’ body bent against Zayn’s. He wanted to just lie across from Zayn and talk to him, but at the same time he wanted nothing more than to get fucked into silence until he didn’t have to think anymore.

Louis lifted his arms and his chest was bare as Zayn dropped the tank to the floor. Louis felt home, his body fitting against Zayn’s the way he had always known.  He was always asked what he did went he went back home, and yeah, Doncaster was his home and he’d always be a Donny boy, but it didn’t feel completely where he needed to be.  His mum cooked for him and he played around with his sisters after school, but he could never help wanting another person in the room.

Zayn held Louis’ waist against his and rolled until his head was hanging between his shoulders, hair hanging down.  The moon broke through the strands and caught against the angles of Zayn’s face, settling there.  _This is how he should always be_ , Louis thought. He needn’t be anywhere else, his skin burning through his clothing and the moon kissing him.

“Sing to me,” Louis repeated, and Zayn’s lashes flickered again. Louis tugged at Zayn’s clothes until he could feel bare skin against his chest, his cold fingers reaching for Zayn’s back.  Zayn shivered slightly, and Louis lifted his bum to pull the blanket from underneath him. “Here,” Louis muttered, and the shimmied their way under the blankets once Louis was nude.

“What do you want me to sing to ya?”  Zayn muttered against Louis’ mouth as he readied himself.  His free hand played with the strands of Louis’ fringe, lifted it and letting it graze their foreheads.  His elbow was propped by Louis’ ear, who shook his head.

“Just sing to me, yeah?”  Zayn nodded, his forehead knocking against Louis’.  He closed his eyes and held Zayn’s neck as Zayn slid into him, tilting his head back and making a guttural noise.

“Hey, shh, shh now,” Zayn whispered, kissing Louis’ neck and cheek and earlobe, leaving his lips pressed to the hook of Louis’ jaw.  His body bent and he pulled back and pushed forward, earning a soft sound from Louis.  Louis gripped at the sheets and dragged his fingers down them, not sure what to do with them. He breathed deeply and Zayn grabbed his hands, locking their fingers together.  He pressed their hands into the mattress, immobilizing Louis.

He hummed, and Louis recognized the tune immediately.  His fingers tightened on Zayn’s and he held his breath. Zayn swung his hips towards Louis, slow. So slow.

_“Driving too fast, moon is breaking through his hair,”_ he began quietly, lips moving against Louis’ ear. If the two hadn’t been in such close proximity, Louis wouldn’t have caught the words.

_“He said it was something that he won’t forget. Having no regrets is all that he really wants.”_

“Zayn.”

Zayn shook his head and kept circling his hips, pushing forward and breathing heavily into Louis’ ear.

_“I’m only getting older baby,_

_and I’ve been thinking about it lately,_

It was melodious and it should have eased Louis, should have been his haven.

_does it ever drive you crazy,_

_just how fast the night changes?”_

Louis unlocked one of his hands from Zayn’s and wound it through his hair, fingernails scraping the scalp.  His heart hurt. Zayn rocked his hips slowly, and Louis just wanted to _fuck_ , he wanted to forget.  Zayn’s voice was soft in his ear, loving, quiet the way Zayn always was.

_“Everything that you’ve ever dreamed of_

_disappearing when you wake up,_

_but there’s nothing to be afraid of,_

_even when the night changes._

_It’ll never change me and you.”_

Louis was crying again, eyes up at the dark ceiling.  There was no sniffling this time, only tears that betrayed him and spilled into his hair.  Zayn’s voice always brought solace to him, calmed him.  The music in his naked voice always filled Louis and settled him, made it all better.

Tonight, it was only a reminder.

His hand ran through Zayn’s hair, long locks catching on his slender fingers. “I’m going to miss all this when you cut it off,” Louis mumbled, and he made another noise when Zayn pushed forward against.  His skin was afire, fingernails digging into Zayn.

Zayn lifted his body, putting his stray arm around Louis’ waist and lifting it to fit. Louis rubbed up against both their stomachs and he was swallowing air.  His back was arched.

“Shh,” Zayn whispered, kissing Louis on the mouth.  “I’m here, mm?”

Zayn knew.

He knew what Louis meant.  He knew that Louis didn’t mind the hair as much, knew it would grow back eventually.

Zayn knew Louis just didn’t want to talk, didn’t want to be aware.

Zayn knew Louis didn’t want him to get on a plane the next morning. He knew the fear that crawled under Louis’ skin, threatening to break through every forced smile and moment of support.

Zayn knew Louis would not want to eat or sleep without Zayn across from him, Zayn beside him.

“I-I’m… I’m gonna…”

“Yeah, hold on.  I’ve got you.” Zayn pressed his cheek to Louis’, stubble tickling Louis’.  Louis could see only Zayn’s shoulder and the moving blanket and the square of moonlight on the covers, cutting across them.

Louis squeezed his eyes shut and his back arched a few times, but Zayn was too slow. The feeling was there, just under Louis’ skin and it made his nose and cheeks flush warm.  His stomach was sticky with liquid and sweat, and he was rubbing between both their stomachs.

He was suspended between release and euphoria.

Zayn’s hips circled into Louis over and over, and Louis heard quiet, quick exhales. They sped and so did Zayn, pushing deeper and quicker, and Louis’ mouth opened silently, cry stuck in his throat. It escaped as a guttural, choked noise when his muscles loosened, but then they tightened again. And again. He pulled some strands of Zayn’s hair from his scalp and his fingers dug through the skin on Zayn’s hand. His stomach clenched until he was spent and he fell back onto the mattress, Zayn no longer being able to support him. His fingers were tight in Zayn’s hair when Zayn groaned and he watched Zayn’s shoulders clench, felt Zayn fill him up.  Zayn’s jaw dug into Louis’ cheek.  His body sank onto Louis’.

“Love you,” Zayn murmured, kissing Louis’ cheek.  He was sated.

“Love you most.”

Zayn kissed Louis on the mouth and pulled away, stepping off the bed. Louis pulled the blanket off himself, not wanting it to get messy.  His skin protested at the cold.  The light in the bathroom flipped on and Louis squinted as Zayn’s blurry silhouette disappeared.  The water ran and he returned a moment later with a damp towel, warm and giving off steam. It was dark again and Zayn came ‘round the window side of the bed, sitting on the edge with one leg curled underneath him. He was in boxers now.

“C’mere.” Louis shifted so his head was on Zayn’s lap, looking up at the little blurry hairs on the chin he fell in love with so long ago.  Zayn ran the towel over Louis’ stomach, eyes on Louis’ and hair falling across his face. His skin froze where the towel left its mark.

“What is it?”  Louis asked, a hand curling around Zayn’s waist and playing at the younger man’s spine.

Zayn was quiet.  He wiped the towel over Louis’ clean skin once more and dropped it to the floor, bending over to pick up the stray boxers.  He handed them to Louis and gazed out the window while Louis put them on. Louis marveled, and he hurt.

They curled under the blankets once more, legs together and they were facing each other.  Zayn’s face was clear now, close enough that Louis could make out the details without his glasses. They watched each other. Memorizing each other. Zayn’s spine was to the window, and only a splinter of light broke into his irises.  His lashes were pepper with the moon.

“Promise me something?”  Zayn said, and he had a look on his face.

Louis nodded.

“Eat while I’m gone.  Keep it in that tummy of yours, yeah?”

Louis didn’t move, stared back at Zayn.  Of course, Zayn knew.  He always knew.

“Promise me something?”  Louis mirrored Zayn’s words, brow furrowing slightly.

Zayn took Louis’ hand, held it between his chin and the pillow.  “Anything.”

“Come back alive.”

“Promise me you’ll eat.”

Louis looked at Zayn, whose face was clouded in shadow.  “I… I can’t.  Zayn, it makes me nauseous, and I feel disgusting.”

“Hey,” Zayn said, holding Louis’ face and scooting closer.  “I know it’ll be hard, but you’ve got to. You’re not disgusting, you don’t need to prove anything to anyone, yeah?”

“I can’t.”

“You _can_ , Lou. You’re strong, I tell you every day. You’ve got me, I’d hope you don’t need anythin’ else.”

“Of course I don’t.”

“Please just eat.  For me.”

“I will.”

Zayn kissed Louis on the mouth and ran a finger through his hair, and Louis remembered the way his mother used to do that when he was a child.

“Don’t go to Afghanistan,” Louis whispered, running his thumb over the back of Zayn’s hand.

“I’m here, Lou.”

“Please don’t go.”

“Hey, shh, I’m still here.  Lou, I’m here.”

Their foreheads touched and Louis’ eyes were closed.  He felt Zayn’s breathing, and it turned into quiet humming, then quiet singing. He fell asleep to the warm body against his, unaware he’d be hearing the calmness of that breathing for the last time.

 

 

The rain woke Louis, softly _pit-patter_ ing against the roof and windowsill.  The first thing he noticed was the cold.  He woke up disoriented, not really remembering who he was and for a moment trying to differentiate between his dream and the coldness around him. The dream faded and then he couldn’t remember it, and his eyes opened.

Zayn was gone.  Louis felt it the way he did after a haircut, not having to run to the mirror to check if the hair was really gone.  He just felt it, the emptiness, the silence in the halls of the house.  How the kitchen didn’t clatter softly, how the living room wasn’t playing inaudible music, how there were no soft noises of yoga waking him.

He was draped over a pillow, and he pulled off of it.  The gesture of love from Zayn hurt him.  He turned away from the window and stared at the ceiling. He was alone.

It may have been a half hour later, maybe longer, but Louis crawled out of his bed. His muscles ached from the cold. He stretched, groaning. He padded across the room to the dresser and pulled out a worn sweater, one of Zayn’s.  It smelled the way he loved, and it smelled strongly. When he came back to the bed to lift the blanket from where it had fallen to the carpet, he spotted something on the nightstand.  A letter.

He pushed his glasses onto his nose and ripped the envelope open. The paper inside was rough and thick.

 

 

_Louis,_

_I couldn’t stand to wake you. You just looked so good sleeping, and that’s what I wanted to remember out on the forefront.  Y’know, wanted to remember you with the moonlight in your hair and on your skin and your chest rising and falling.  I hate seeing you cry, hate watching you hurt. Forgive me for not waking you._

_I sound like a sap, alright then._

_I know you don’t believe so, but you’re the strongest man I’ve ever known.  You make me so much better, you are the reason I’m going to make it back alive. You’re my home, you know that? I love you so much, don’t forget that. Not on the days it rains or the days you want to drink, because I know how much you loved drowning in a good bottle of wine. I didn’t leave because I don’t love you. I’m not sure of a lot of things, not sure if I’m doing the right thing, but I’m sure that you are what I see when I close my eyes._

_I love you._

_I made a bit of a mess in the bathroom, but you’ll clean it up._

_Remember me._

_I love you.  I love you.  I love you. I love you._

_I love you._

_Love,_

_Zayn. x_

 

 

Louis read the letter four times, fingers tracing the scrawled lines. He held it to his chest and stared out the door into the dark hallway.  The sweater fell off his shoulder, always so much smaller than Zayn.

He left the letter on the bed and picked his way across the room to the bathroom, and he laughed quietly.  The floor was covered in locks of hair, a razor sat on the counter.  He pictured Zayn rushing out the door, not having time to both write the letter and clean up the bathroom.  Louis maneuvered around the hair, wondered if Zayn finally did cry that morning.

Red caught his eye.

A rose sat on the edge of the large tub, and Louis picked it up with his slim fingers. He pricked two of his fingers on it, didn’t mind the small drops of blood that splattered onto the tile.

Louis stepped into the shower, under the hot water, rose and sweater left on the edge of the tub.  The water ran over his closed eyes, and he held himself to gather heat.  These were the reminders Zayn left, brought into sharp relief against the black and white of the world.

A ragged sweater,

a mess of hair,

a letter,

a rose,

and, worst of all, an empty coldness.

The hot water did little to warm Louis, and he was gasping against the steam and his racing heart.

His eyes closed, and he saw tea-and-honey eyes, framed by lashes kissed by the moon.


End file.
